


Lift Away

by goodgirlwhoshopeful



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Julia Poldark - Freeform, Sad, because I seem to love to explore my favourite characters in some of the darkest places, featuring post series 1 sad Demelza, grieving Demelza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodgirlwhoshopeful/pseuds/goodgirlwhoshopeful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My imaging of how Ross & Demelza's reunion and grieving could have gone after his release from Bodmin gaol and the death of Julia.</p><p>Inspired by 'Re: stacks' by Bon Iver.</p><p>(Any spoilers this may contain are purely coincidence, as I have not read the novels for a very long time and can't actually remember what happens:')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lift Away

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone tells me 'Elizabeth wouldn't call Demelza 'cousin''.... I saw the exclusive clip from Series 2 at the Radio Times Fest... and she does.

_This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realisation…_  
_It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away._  
_Your love will be…safe with me._

––['Re: stacks' - Bon Iver.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePatJIwB-sI)

 _“How fairs the child? Is she settled?”_  
_“…Still somewhat feral.”_

Those were the words he had spoken when Demelza, or Demelza Carne as she was then, had been in his home not thirty one days.

Now, as Ross Poldark stepped through that same front door of Nampara House, finally a free man again, they suddenly echoed in his ears. The house’s echo told of its emptiness. It was not yet sundown, and having hurried with the hast of the wind to reach his young wife upon being released from Bodmin gaol that very morn, Ross was more than a little surprised and distressed to find his young wife was nowhere to be seen.

His cousin Francis had come to his aid in court – a great, pleasing surprise – as had his dear friends Dwight and Zacky… Even Judd. The date of his day in front of the judge had come as a surprise, as was usually the way, as the judiciary system seemed to have a love for keeping innocent people stuck in their prisons on their toes. It was announced at dawn that this day, his eleventh day stuck in the squalor of Bodmin gaol, would be the day he finally had his chance to defend himself. Thankfully, his friends had been as dedicated to tracking this news as Ross could have hoped for, as all men were present to defend him.  
And, while Ross of course knew that Demelza would not attend – for it would be a long while until she was strong enough to make such a journey – part of him had half expected her to attempt to, as was her stubborn, determined nature.

Thankfully though, he was mistaken, as her fiery mane was nowhere to be seen in the courtroom. The charges made against him had been fabrications, naturally, from the mouth of the Warleggons; works of fiction that would rival that of Chaucer. Inciting a riot… Stealing goods… Murder. All preposterous… Well, all except the stealing, perhaps… but none of the goods he picked from the shore were for himself, all were for the starving people! Besides, there was a script and well-known law that stated that the finder of any goods on the beaches became the owner of said goods… So, none of the innocent people of the village had some anything wrong. Yet, the Warleggons had the cheek to still try and paint it so, and all because of him! He felt such shame at the thought, but also such incredible, white-hot fury…

More than anything, his murderous temperament was triggered not so much by the fact he was locked in irons behind bars in a prison that had the hygiene worse than Darkie’s stable, but because they had locked him away…when Demelza needed him.  
She’d been a broken, tiny, trembling waif of herself the day they had made him leave her at the cliff edge; heartbroken, grieving and terrifyingly frail, the usual fire in her eyes appeared to have almost distinguished completely.  
She will be so cold, his mind had tormented him that first night in chains. How will she have gotten home?! His fretting must have been clear to see on his features, because while he did not move, his fellow prisoners hung back a considerable distance from him in the space that the cell would allow. She was not strong enough to ride!

“My wife! _Please_ ––she cannot ride! She had just awoken from a grave illness – _Please_. We just lost our child––Please, gentlemen. Please make sure she’s safe––“ He had pleaded with the soldiers as they led him away, and they seemed to nonchalantly acknowledge his concerns.

It was then that he really could have committed said this murder that he was accused of, just to get Demelza back home, safe and sound. He had hung his head by the time they had arrived at Bodmin, his chest feeling as though God himself had him pressed under his boot.

Images had tortured him as he lay on the solid, cold floor surrounded by straw, images of Demelza, alone, eyes blurred with tears, stumbling back toward Nampara with the little energy her body could muster, as it was still fragile as a fawn from the sickness… _She will be shivering…_ He shook himself at the image, his fingers itching to touch her, warm her… 

_She will be cold… and all alone._

The images had circled him and jibed at him like daggers to the chest, leaving him gasping for air, to the point he had roared aloud, throwing a fist against the stone. To his fellow inmates, it most likely looked as though he was an angry cannonball, ready to burst as he sat facing the far wall, long into the night…

When, in fact, he had cried.

While most other prisoners slept, Ross Poldark had succumbed to the power of the sorrowful hand that life had dealt him, as his body wracked with sobs – something he did so rarely in his life, he could count it the occasions on one had. The tears had been quiet, almost silent, but they had made his whole body quake. _She’ll be cold_ , his inner voice screamed, as though someone would hear…or care. _She’s alone… Without I…and without Julia… She needs me!_ “She just came back,” he’d moaned sorrowfully to himself over again, both on the trail to Bodmin and as he cried. “Oh, _please_ , God,” he had pleaded. “I just got her back.”

He had remained in that cell for ten days. On the eleventh, his day in court came, and his friends had all turned out to support him. He was most surprised, however, to raise his head and see Elizabeth in the stands.

Next thing he knew, Francis stood before the judge and defended him too… _against_ George Warleggon.

Perhaps blood truly _was_ thicker than water.

“ _Demelza_?” He called somewhat timidly for her through the house from the main hallway, but his voice bounced back at him. In that moment, he heard the hasty scrambling footsteps of his wife’s loyal mutt as he bounced down the staircase, barking enthusiastically.

“Master of the house now are we, Garrick?” he muttered as he tried to look at the dog scornfully. However, he found he had missed him home to such a degree that he could not keep a small smile from his face. As he lowered himself to crouch by the dog and scratch his ears, he had to admit to himself, he’d even missed Garrick. “Where’s Demelza?” he asked the canine, somewhat redundantly. The dog grumbled and moved back the way he came, much to Ross’ surprise.  
Intrigued, and itching to hold his wife again, Ross followed, trying to ignore the glaringly obvious fact that his wife’s dog may be a blinding know-it-all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Demelza had been laying in bed a long time.

When Ross had been taken from her, they wouldn't allow her to visit him, being a woman and all. She had tried, that very same night, but to no avail, as her sickness meant to could not walk half a mile, never mind the distance it would take to reach Bodmin. So, after a few moments of screaming and crying into her pillow, she had gotten up, put on her gown – that was frighteningly almost too big for her with the weight the sickness had taken from her – and gone to find Ginny. She herself was too weak to go to Trenwith, that she knew, so instead she had sent Judd. He had been surprisingly hurried and eager to help his master, and within the next hour, Elizabeth had arrived at Nampara. She told of how she and Francis had received the news of Ross’ arrest, and that Francis was in talks with George Warrleggon as they spoke in an attempt to resolve the matter.

 _“They have affection for each other, really,”_ Elizabeth assured that night, as they settled in the parlour over tea. _“Francis will not stand with George on this matter. Not when his cousin’s life is at stake.”_ She had then leant over and firmly gripped Demelza’s hand, and for a while, Demelza could do nothing but cry. _“Be assured, cousin.”_

 _Cousin_ … Elizabeth had never used such a familiar term of endearment and family toward her before, so when the word was spoken, Demelza suddenly felt an incredible wave of guilt for ever thinking ill of the woman. While, yes, Ross would always care for her more than he perhaps should, because she was his first and all that, Demelza realised in that moment that she did not mind.

Elizabeth did not ask to be born with such beauty, she realised, just as Demelza did not ask to be born a miners daughter. Elizabeth did not ask Ross to fall in love with her, or for the war to occur and for her to then settle for a man she perhaps shouldn’t have… Elizabeth, like all of Gods creatures, was a victim of circumstance.

It was how you dealt with your circumstances that told of the kind of person you were, and Elizabeth was nothing short of eternally moral and true.  
_I would do well to be more like her,_ she had thought to herself.

Elizabeth had remained with Demelza at Nampara that night, as, while she hated to admit it, Demelza was too weak for most usual activities…and she just couldn’t be alone. She found, however, once Elizabeth had retired for the night, that she could not step foot back in the master bedroom… Not with Ross gone and… Julia gone too.

Julia’s tiny bed sat there empty, taunting her of how it would never again to hold her tiny, sweet, beautiful daughter… and it just too much to bare. She had hurriedly shut the door, feeling herself begin to choke on air as her silent sobs were almost too much.

Instead, that night, she had found herself asleep in the cot in the parlour, where she had not laid her head since her days as a kitchen maid. Garrick had curled up with her almost instantly, burrowing his nose into her face when she cried, as it seemed to distress him. So, for her beloved companion of so many years, she attempted to seise her tears. Upon waking at dawn the next morning, Demelza rose and went to carry on her sewing in the parlour, so Elizabeth would never would never know of her alternative sleeping arrangements.

That day, Verity arrived, and remained for five days, having been given Captain Blamey’s blessing to keep her grieving, weak cousin company, and for that, Demelza was eternally grateful, for the dark brought her such grave, frightening demons to the surface… Images of a life without Julia…without Ross… Without anyone… Dreams that taunted her to the point of insanity, as she would wake, sure she had heard the soft, kind voice of her husband just beside her, and her cooing baby in the corner… only to wake with her arms empty and without breath in her lungs.

On this eleventh day without Ross, she had fallen asleep by the fire in her kitchen-maid cot again, despite the fact it was only just after noon, for she found she had not the energy to keep her eyes open, never mind to keep her body upright.

After all, without Ross, what was the use in doing housework, outside of feeding the animals? He was not here to eat the food she made, and she herself wasn’t hungry much at all, so meal times began to come and go without notice. The young Poldark found she had not even the energy to cry by now. Instead, she went about cleaning the parlour when she woke at dawn, feeding Darkie and the chickens and the pigs, while Ginny did what she could to make her mistress eat… then, that having exhausted her, found herself curling up by the fire again, in the middle of the day. While her back screamed for the soft, forgiving mattress of the master bed, she knew that she could not face lying in those sheets without Ross at her side. The bedchamber, that had once been such a sanctuary for marital bless and tranquility, was now surrounded by the murk of death as though it was the centre of a storm.

Without Ross, she knew was unable to face that storm… Or, rather, she could…but she was sure it would be the end of her.  
Consequently, since that fateful day when she had sat on Julia’s tiny little bed and wept, the same day that she first saw Ross Poldark cry, Demelza had not set foot in their bedchamber, sleeping in the parlour by a roaring fire each night, with sweet Garrick as her only company, praying to God that Ross would be returned to her with the arrival of the new day.

She had begun to think the day would never come.  
That is, until today.

From under her blankets, she was suddenly jolted awake from her mid-day slumber by a noise… No, a _voice_

“ _Not again_ ,” she whimpered to herself as she let her head roll back in resignation. “Be not another dream, _please_. Please,” she begged to the empty room, letting her eyes close again, “No more dreams.”

Today was Ginny’s day off, or so Demelza had decided it would be… She pretended this was to give Ginny some time with her little one…when really it was so she could grieve in peace, without the feeling of loitering, worried eyes.

While she prayed for Ross’ release yet again that morning, she was almost sure that her wish would never be granted – that the power of the Warleggons’ and their money would prove too much for all that was just and right.

Looking about, she could not see what it was that awoke her, so instantly accepted that her dreams had tricked her again. That is, until the sound of her beloved Garrack barking reached her ears from behind the closed parlour door. She frowned in bemusement, but assumed he was playing his usual games with Ginny as she washed laundry in the yard.

Then, just like that, the path of her life was on shifted again.

The door to the parlour swung open, causing a sleep-ridden Demelza to jump right out her skin, as the sight before her almost launched her heart from her breast.

For there, in the clothes he had been wearing eleven days prior, stood Ross.

“Ross?” she enquired in a whisper that croaked with disuse. There was no way he was here, she scorned mentally. _Hell fire,_ her mind was cruel to her. She had heard his voice every night, but this was the first time it had manifested his image before her.

“P’raps I _am_ goin’ mad,” she breathed aloud, gazing at him through eyes blurred with fresh tears, as the mirage of her beloved stoked up the pace of her breathing. “‘ee looks as real as the day is long.” Her voice was awestruck and distant, as though she were under a spell. Tears fell unchecked from her eyes, but her calm, quiet despair soon began to disintegrate into something much more manic. She attempted to look away from him, her face scrunched up as if in physical pain as a heavy sob burst from her chest. “No, no, _no_ , I cahn’t cope with this… _torment_ ––‘e looks so real!” Her words are almost a sorrowful moan and she reaches to violently grasp wither side of her head, hunching over into herself. “ _Please_ , God. Please take these visions of my love away from me––They be a dagger to my heart––Please, no––”

Her ramblings resembled delirium, and, in the moments that this reaction unfolded, Ross himself was blinded in a kind of daze of his own. At first, it was the wave of such intense relief that washed over him just to be able to see her. Then, it was the incredible urge to run to her, but somehow finding he was frozen, feeling as though, if he were to move, she would dissipate into thin air like she had done in his dreams these last ten days. Lastly, he was stuck by how she looked even more weak than she had when he had left her… and it rolled his stomach.

“Demelza,” he croaked, intensely distressed by her delirious cries, as she grabbed at her hair with such despair that he feared she would pull out whole checks of it.

At the sound of his voice, her ramblings sobs only intensified. “‘e can’t be real. Wake up, Demelza! It’s a cruel dream!” she wept as her body rocked, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, into which her face was no buried, in a childlike pose.

Forgetting the fact he had not washed for over a week and had incredibly sore bones, Ross then threw himself to the foot of the chair on which his young wife was curled in confused despair, he himself barely holding onto his decorum.

“My love,” he whimpered as his fingers found her upper arms, her shoulders, grasping her to pull her from her sorrowful posture. “Demelza, my love––I’m here. It’s me. _I’m here_.”

The moment he touched her, her eyes snapped up to meet his, now just below her as he knelt on the floor, the contact of his skin triggering a burning, almost violent current through her body.

“… _Ross_? It really be you?” she questioned in a tiny, wobbling voice, her hands falling into her lap as she blinked though her tears profusely.

“It _is_ I, my love.” His hands were instantly cradling her face, feeling his quiet chest heave with a sob he simply could keep at bay no longer. “I’m here.”

“Oh––thank you, God!” Demelza wailed as the two instantly found their hands grabbing at each others bodies so desperately, as no embrace seemed to feel enough – no hug tight enough, no hasty, frantic littering of kisses could be bestowed fast enough, no gesture seemed desperate enough to reflect their emotions.

As Ross crushed Demelza against his frame, she burrowed her face into his neck, as his wondering, grasping hand found its way up into her curls at the back of her head. His lips peppered sloppy, urgent kisses across the expanse of her face with little mind for where they ended up, as the speed at which he moved to driven by the one base desire to both give comfort, but also feel comforted in return.

Not that he would ever disclose it, but he often felt giving affection to Demelza gave him much more intense satisfaction than any affection given to him could.  
“Oh good  _god_ , how I love you.” As he declares so, his voice cracks – for which he scorns himself, a force of habit. “My sweet Demelza – I love you, _I love you_.” The repetition was not consciously considered – but instead simply the ramblings of a desperate man.

Demelza’s hands grasped at her husband’s hair, his shoulders, his arms, before framing his face, her hands moving equally as feverishly as his were. She had to feel him, hold him… _Cherish him._

“Is this heaven?” she sighed against his lips as they collided, all teeth and tongue and smacking of lips, with a tremoring voice – a voice that almost broke him.  
At that, Ross began to laugh though his remaining tears – a delicious, velvet sound that triggered a shudder down Demelza’s frame and made her start weeping again, though this time, through a wide, toothy smile. “Oh, most definitely,” he whispered, punctuating his assurance with a kiss to the velvet paper-like skin where her nose met her cheek.

Slowly, their kisses become insistent and needy again, as Ross took his wife in his arms and up the stairs. Just before he reach the door of their bedchamber, Demelza’s frame turned rigid under his kiss.

“Love?”

“I haven’t…been in the bedchamber, not since…” She trailed off as he gazed into her ice-blue eyes, breaking their insistent kisses only to nuzzle his face into the base of her neck in comfort. “I couldn’t… Not without you.”

She watched as his throat bobbed as he swallowed back his emotion, as he slowly shifted her weight to allow himself a free hand to open the door.  
Once inside the room, Ross strode straight to the bed, placing Demelza down upon it. Before he can say a word, she pulled him down to her and they embrace for a long time, curled as one on top of the sheets.

Gradually, their kisses morph from that of comfort, assurance and familiarisation to those of a scorching renewed intensity. Fingers fumbled over stays and buttons until there was nothing left between them, not even distance. That is, until Ross allowed his hands to pass of his wife’s body thoroughly for the first time without the barrier of clothing. His callous fingers felt the changes in her body within an instant; the new sharpness to her shoulder-blades, the newly revealed vertebra in her spine and lower ribs…

“You have lost weight, my love,” he sighed, his tone sad rather than disapproving. With incomparable tenderness, he smooth his thumb over her shallow cheek. “You’re pale.”

Demelza instantly hung her head in shame, only for her husband to life her face up to kiss away her frown. “I… I’ve not been hungry… An’ since ‘ee were not here to cook for, I… did forget… I s’pose I were just…distracted by sadness since…” She had to close her eyes and brace herself before she could say the word, “…Since Julia.”

While Ross did not reply, his eyes swirled with that same dullness she remembered from the day he broke the news to her. It was clear: Ross was suffering just as she was.

“You must eat, Demelza. Please.” He kissed her cheek repeatedly as he moved a strong hand down to caress his wife in the most intimate of ways, before finally uniting their bodies. “I cannot––I will not––lose you too.”

Demelza nodded dumbly, too overcome with the events that had taken hold to answer him, almost completely blinded by the tears that gathered and fell from her eyes without hinderance.

As she hit her high, Demelza wailed in a way that, to her ears, sounded almost sorrowful rather than jovial; her body pulsing and twitching unceremoniously underneath the steady warmth of her husband's body. He followed suit almost instantly, but he buried his face into her curls long before, so she would not have to witness him cry again.

As they lay for hours afterward, Ross made it his business to fetch Demelza the nourishment she so desperately needed, hovering like a hawk beside her to make sure she ate every last bite. He filled her in on the proceedings of the court of she ate, then tucking her into the bed as she began to shiver.  
“Rest, darling girl,” he husked into her ear, rising to tidy away their plates. At least, that had been his plan, except Demelza had his arm in a death grip before his weight had even left the bed.

 _“Don’t leave!”_ The outburst come from her without consideration, spurred by a hot flush of panic. Her fingers tightened around his hot, strong forearm. “Please don’t leave.”

Ross instantly curled under the sheets behind her back, pressing a tender kiss to the back of her neck, his forearm curling around her tiny waist as he drew her against his chest.

“I do not intend to leave you ever again, Demelza Poldark,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. In response, she turned to kiss the underside of his jaw, sniffing hard to rid the remanence of her tears.

“And I shall endeavour to return the favour, Cap’n Poldark, Sur.” She replied in her best genteel lady voice, channelling her inner Verity, and, as she’d hoped, it triggered the most delicious rumble of laughter from within his chest.

In that moment, a real sense of certainty washed over her, and after eleven days of feeling entirely lost, it felt almost euphoric.

“We’ll be alright, Ross,” she whispered, almost to herself, before turning to press a kiss his forehead in the way he often did to her. It seemed to surprise him, because he cleared his throat in the way that always told her he was unsure of what to say. “Won’t we?”

His response rings true of his infamous, stubborn resolve as she pulled him down to rest his head against her breast, pressing kisses into his curls, a deep rumble of contentment vibrated her chest as it escaped his.

“Of course… As long as we have one another, we’ll lift away... There may be treacherous rocks for now, but... we will make it. Together.”

Tightening an arm around his solid middle, Demelza felt herself begin to drift, and for the first time since before the treacherous sickness that took her far away, her dreams were warm and dazzling again. A kaleidoscope of herself and her love with his dark curls and dark eyes and his smile the size of Cornwall, picnicking on his sailboat under the glow of the famous Cornish sunset. _“And… we now we lift away!”_ Ross calls in his best ‘sailor’ voice, as he pushes the boat from the shore, and as they begin to drift on the serene, blue waves, Ross holds sweet little Julia in his embrace, pointing toward the infinite horizon. _“You’re safe with me,”_ he murmurs to her, and as they laugh and dance and while they tell stories into her ear well into the night, the sunset never fades to darkness… Not here. Not in their little piece of forever.

 _It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away._  
_Your love will be…safe with me._


End file.
